Nightmares
by mari.92.11.3
Summary: Cor and Aravis have a little talk.


He'd been slipping in and out of sleep for a couple of hours, tossing and turning as well as he could in his broken condition. His heart was pounding out of his chest, his face drenched in sweat, his breathing quickening to a dangerous state—

He awoke, gasping for breath.

"Shasta?"

It was only in times like these, when he was hurt and vulnerable, did she refer to him by his old name. She would run her finger through his hair and wipe off his wet forehead—it was times like these that he loved her the most. And they weren't even married—not even courting.

_Come to think of it, she doesn't even know you love her. _

_Ah, but she does._

In the back of his mind, he had a feeling that she did. But he hadn't quite found it in himself to tell her that he would die for her, slay a thousand dragons and sail a million seas, if only he could see her at the end of it all. "Only a nightmare." He mumbled, slowly getting off his hammock. How had he, the prince, gotten landed with the only hammock out on deck? It was nearly obnoxious.

She immediately walked over to him and held his face in her palms, examining it carefully, searching for some ill sign. Then she enveloped herself in his arms and exhaled.

"You're an idiot." She muttered, just loud enough that he could hear her.

"You're worse."

"I'm not the one sleeping out here with only a sheet."

"I keep warm."

"No, you're an idiot."

"Aravis."

"Cor."

"So I'm Cor now?"

"What would your rather I call you? Your Royal Arse?"

"And what are you? My Plain Lady?"

She snorted. "You've got no taste in women, so I'm not disappointed."

"Why ever not?"

"They're all short and blond, and they're all _fat._"

"They aren't!"

"Well, I'm _not_ sorry I don't meet your standards."

"Well, _I_ certainly am."

"Oh? And what does that mean, Cor?" she snapped, her head bouncing up and glaring at him. He was holding her still, but barely.

He sighed. "Nothing, Aravis. Nothing at all."

"Nothing, he says." She rolled her eyes, but shut up—though she pulled away from him and stalked towards the rail of the boat and leaned over, dangling an arm over the edge and staring at the water.

"I'm sorry." He said weakly, following her and standing beside her.

"It doesn't matter." She said flatly, clearly irritated.

"I didn't mean a bit of it." And he hadn't, really. It had slipped out, like his words always did when they were arguing—he never meant half of what he said then.

"You never do."

"But I mean it when I apologize, Aravis."

"Can't you at least _try _to be civil?" she rounded on him and glared viciously. "Can't you _pretend _that I mean something to you?"

"You mean everything to me, dolt—"

She was on the brink of tears now. He could tell, and he had no idea how to make it better, as usual. He'd told her everything—but he'd lied often.

"Aravis…" he held her face in his palms. She looked up at him with her wide amber eyes and bit her lip.

"I can't."

His hands dropped to her waist, and he pulled her to him once more. "Is it bothering you again?"

"He hates me."

"Of course he does—you ruined his chances at an extra money pouch by refusing to sacrifice your happiness—"

"Oh, don't. You know it's much worse than that—"

"It's not, really—"

"It is, because now—"

"My father's taking care of it, he'll be gone in a matter of weeks—"

"But we can't always expect your father to take care of everything, Cor; you'll be king soon enough as well—"

"Oh don't start that again—"

"You know it's true, why deny it? You're—"

"Just don't, Aravis, please, I don't want to—"

"You never want—"

"Only because—"

"Is it—"

"It doesn't matter, alright? It's _your _father we're speaking of, not mine."

"But yours is negotiating with mine as we speak." She breathed.

He touched her lips with his finger. "Shh…Aravis, I want to know something."

"Hmm?"

"When we get home, I'm going to be Prince Cor again. Corin and I will argue and you will fret, my father will work and I'll learn. But… when we get home…I've loved you for ages now, you know, I just…"

She was wide-eyed.

"Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"You know…" he took a breath. "Marry me?"

"Marry… When we get home?"

"Yes."

"I believe so, yes."

He kissed her soundly—not exactly his first, but nicer, he thought, than the rest of them.

"You've been at the kitchen maids again, haven't you?" she whispered.

He grinned guiltily.

"You shouldn't. They flatter you—I think you're under the impression that your kisses are a treat."


End file.
